Page 15 of Claimed

Luca’s mouth curves. ‘You say that like you’ve had disappointing customer service.’

‘And an interesting amount of certainty,’ Malachi adds.

‘Interesting amount of me being alive this long,’ I shoot back.

A few hours ago, that would’ve earned me a threat. Or Malachi’s beautiful, lethal face going very still while he decided how many bones he could break without violating Valentin’s last command.

Now he only stares at me like I’m a locked door he is seriously considering ripping from the hinges.

‘If witchcraft is involved, witchcraft may be required to identify it,’ Aaron offers.

‘And if it isn’t?’

‘Then we confirm that and move on. But if witchcraft is involved and we refuse to look at it, we waste time he may not have.’

‘That’s very neat.’ My voice tightens before I can stop it. ‘Very rational. Unfortunately, witches are rarely neat or rational. They’re favours with teeth and doors that close behind you after you’ve already stepped through.’

Luca glances at Aaron. ‘She’s really selling the experience. Most of the witches I know are warm and fuzzy and full of fun times.’

‘I’m not selling anything. I’m warning you.’

Malachi steps closer. ‘Again… why?’

The question strikes too close to the hidden thing in my mouth, the buried name behind my teeth.

Because a witch gave me the potion currently locking my true name in my throat and my mind. And if the wrong witch sees Valentin like this, she may not try to save him. She may kneel beside his unconscious body and start negotiating over what’s left of him.

I choose the answer that doesn’t make my tongue bleed.

‘Because vampires might rip your throat out,’ I say, ‘but at least most of you have the decency to be direct about it.’

Luca gives a low laugh.

Aaron does not. His attention shifts to Malachi, and some silent communication passes between them, quick and cold as a blade sliding between ribs. I catch the tightening in Aaron’s mouth. A flicker in Malachi’s gaze. The faintest change in the room, as if every vampire present has heard a name before it is spoken.

Then Gideon says quietly, ‘Tezra’s murderer already led us towards Ireland.’

He’s referring to the Location Teleporter, and my good friend, who was brutally murdered by vampires sired by Rafe Navarro, Vampire Don of Chicago, one of whom decades earlier defected to another Five Blood – Ciaran O’Rourke’s territory in Ireland.

Aaron’s gaze sharpens. ‘And towards the missing sireds.’

Luca’s humour fades. ‘Two birds, one very inconvenient Irishman.’

Malachi’s jaw hardens.

I look from one face to another. ‘What?’

No one answers me. The silence thickens. Then Malachi says, ‘O’Rourke.’

Every vampire in the room reacts. It’s subtle, but there.

Even Valentin. His mark flares so sharply the barrier sparks and I step closer without meaning to.

‘Ireland?’ I ask. ‘You’re really going to call Ciaran O’Rourke?’

Malachi looks at me with fresh dislike. ‘You know too much.’

‘I hunt supernatural criminals for a living. I like knowing which ancient murder monarch is likely to object if I chase a fugitive through his territory.’